Porcelain
by Astralis
Summary: Martin can't figure out how to read between the lines Sam's giving him, and so he finds himself watching her from outside and feeling like a stranger. Post ep for Nickel and Dimed part 2, MS


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Martin, Samantha, or anything else. Which is a pity, really.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Post-ep for "Nickel and Dimed" part 2

* * *

Martin sits beside her in the ambulance, doing his best to play the calm-yet-concerned co-worker as he struggles to keep himself from either blasting Sam for what he wants to see as stupidity in remaining undercover, or crushing her body to his as proof that she's still alive.

He's by her side as much as the doctors will allow through numerous x-rays and stitches. He offers her his hand as she winces in pain while a nurse cleans the wounds on her face, but Sam just shakes her head and stares at nothing. There's a wall between them, so obvious to Martin that it might as well be made of concrete. This whole relationship has been built on sex and Martin's need to give Sam everything he's got, even when it's clear she's incapable of taking, let alone of giving anything back. He feels like maybe this would all work a lot of better if Sam would actually admit to weaknesses, rather than letting them slip when she's tired and emotional. Martin can't figure out how to read between the lines Sam's giving him, and so he finds himself watching her from outside and feeling like a stranger. He knows that since Colleen McGrath went missing Sam's been slipping more than usual, the cracks in her porcelain veneer glaringly obvious, but he's completely lost when it comes to knowing what to do.

He wonders about what she's keeping from him, and if she'd have shared those things with Jack.

Sam is discharged with stitches in her face and painkillers and Martin's promise to look after her. She's said almost nothing about what she's been through, but Martin's made some guesses based on the catalogue of her injuries.

He calls them a cab and they ride in silence. He remembers a cab ride with Sam that felt like waiting to fall over a cliff, when he couldn't breathe without being filled with nervous anticipation, but this time Sam just stares out the window, unmoving. Martin doesn't bother trying to fill the gap between them with words or touch, because he couldn't bear to fail this time.

It's been days since he's been in Sam's apartment, but the familiarity of it comforts him and he feels not that he's come home, but that Sam has made it.

He watches from behind as she drops her keys on the table. "You want to talk about it?" he asks, staring at her back.

"Not really," Sam says dangerously, and then she turns around and he sees yet again the mess that bastard made of her face, and then he sees that Samantha Spade is breaking and for once she's not holding anything back. "Martin - " she says, and it's enough.

He gets her onto the sofa and lets her cry it out, trying soothe her, trying to comfort her, holding her because there's no way he's letting her go. He hates that he feels so relieved about her tears, but at the same time it feels like a victory.

"Better?" he asks, when the tears have faded away and she's lying limply in his arms, the better side of her face resting against his shoulder.

"Not really."

"Yeah." He kisses the top of her head. "How about a bath, a decent meal, and bed?"

"Sounds like a heaven I don't deserve." Sam's voice is bitter.

"You deserve it if anyone does," he whispers into her ear, and means it with every inch of him.

"How do I go back to living this life when those people I met are stuck? They can't escape, Martin, there's no way out for them, there's no happy ending." Sam's fingers tighten around a fistful of his shirt.

He's got no answers. He can't even comprehend the reality that's eating Sam up, because he's never lived in that world and because he's always been able to separate his own world from those he comes into contact with almost daily. "Let me look after you," he says, because it's the only thing he feels able to do. "Just for tonight. And then maybe tomorrow we'll be able to figure it out."

Sam nods slowly and carefully and he can tell she hasn't got any fight left at the moment. "Just tonight."

"Just tonight."

He runs her a bath with bubbles and orders takeout from the nearest decent restaurant, then sits beside her on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor as she has her bath. Neither of them say anything, but when her eyes start filling with the tears he's been half-expecting to return Martin cups her good cheek in his hand and caresses it as Sam clenches her fists and swears.

She devours the spaghetti bolognaise like she hasn't eaten properly in a week. Martin watches her eat and barely touches his own food, and when she's done he leads her to bed. "Stay with me," she says, and it's the invitation he's been waiting for, but dreading will never come.

"You sure?"

"I don't think I want to be alone. And - " there's a pause, and Sam's obviously thinking something over. Martin's already stripping down to undershirt and boxers. "I want you here," she says, and it's clearly important and the importance, to Martin, is obvious. He slides between cool cotton sheets and finds Sam. Mindful of wounds and bruises he lets her make herself comfortable against him before wrapping his arms round her. It's the first night he's spent with Sam that hasn't been about sex.

The next day he tells the others that he slept on the sofa, and avoids Danny's knowing smile. He never mentions the nightmares they both have.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
